


it's whispered in a hush

by vavafroome (spaceboy_niko)



Category: Cycling RPF
Genre: Companion Piece, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboy_niko/pseuds/vavafroome
Summary: tadej has gotten rather good at the whole clandestine nature of his and primož's relationship, or so he thinks.
Relationships: Tadej Pogačar/Primož Roglič, Wout van Aert/Mathieu van der Poel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	it's whispered in a hush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magliarosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magliarosa/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [magliarosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magliarosa/pseuds/magliarosa). Log in to view. 



> surprise!! no one knew this was coming, least of all magliarosa!! i'm so fucking good at secrets
> 
> if you haven't read _nothing stays secret forever_ , you should because it lives in my head rent-free and happens to occupy a similar space to tadej pogačar, hence this alternate perspective
> 
> title is from message to my girl by split enz, the enzso rendition of which makes me cry

Tadej isn’t new to this whole sneaking around thing - he and Primož made it through the Vuelta last year just fine, despite one close call with Jumbo-Visma’s camera crew - but it always sends a little thrill through him. As he waits for the elevator, he reads back through the texts Primož had sent him.

> _Rescheduled soigneur for 7. Wout will be out then, we’ll have the room all to ourselves for an hour or so_
> 
> _It won’t be much time, but at least we’ll get to see each other before Worlds_

The concept of sharing a hotel room with Primož for the days they’re at Worlds has him giddy, and truth be told, he wants to get the Tour over and done with so they can spend all that glorious time together.

He checks the time on his phone in the elevator. 4:57. Close enough - Primož should be alone, and Tadej wants every minute possible with him.

He doesn’t look too out of place on this floor - the hotel is overrun with cyclists, no one really knows who he is - and he checks Roglič’s room number again. Three doors down from the elevator, on the right, and he knocks, waiting expectantly for Primož to open the door just enough to let him in.

There’s no answer.

He tries again. Still nothing. He can hear movement from behind the door, but nothing more.

“Oi, Rogla, open up, I don’t have all day,” he calls.

The door opens, and Tadej is face to face with Wout van Aert.

Tadej’s eyes widen as he tries to think of some excuse, some way to get himself out of there, but Wout’s looking at him and then Wout’s _not_ looking at him and then Wout is yanking him through the door and waving over his shoulder.

Roglič’s on his feet, looking just as confused as Tadej feels, and Tadej turns around to see Mathieu van der Poel bolt into the room as Wout slams the door shut.

The elevator dings faintly from outside as the four of them try to make sense of the situation.

“That,” Wout says to Primož, “is not Lora.”

Tadej _feels_ himself go red, wanting to look anywhere but at the faces around him.

“That,” Primož shoots back, “is not Sarah.”

Mathieu begins to laugh hysterically and says something to Wout in Dutch, and Tadej really wishes he were somewhere else, trying desperately to think of a reason as to why he’s here that is definitely not the real reason.

“I’m sorry,” he says in English, because he’s fairly confident it’s the only common ground they have. “It’s just that, I, well, left something with Primož and I need it back before the stage tomorrow.”

Mathieu turns to him, eyebrow quirked and laughter barely contained.

“Oh? What, pray tell, was it you left with Roglič?”

Shit. He hadn’t thought this through well enough.

“I- uh, a book.” He tries not to put a question at the end, hopes that it sounds convincing.

Either Mathieu’s too sharp for that, or Tadej’s acting skills are worse than he thought. “Look, kid, you’re not fooling anyone. We both know Rogla doesn’t read.”

Primož furrows his brow at that, and Tadej is regretting disappointing his mother by flunking high school theatre.

“We all know why we’re here, I don’t know why we can’t just own up to it like adults,” Mathieu continues, like this is a natural conversation to have. Tadej hasn’t wanted to acknowledge why Mathieu’s here, too, but the connection of the dots doesn’t exactly make him comfortable with the situation he’s in.

Wout berates Mathieu loudly in Dutch, but Mathieu pays him no mind.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” It’s the only thing Mathieu’s said that Tadej fully agrees with. “Wout, you are absolute shit at time management. Look what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Roglič is trying very hard not to crack, Tadej can see it, and Mathieu turns to them again.

“And you!” Mathieu’s voice is full of melodrama and that hysterical laughter from before. “A fucking cradle robber!”

Roglič raises an eyebrow, and Tadej wants to sink into the floor - he’s been on the English-speaking internet enough, he knows what that means, and he really wishes that Mathieu van der Poel would shut up or leave, preferably both, and Wout’s speaking Dutch again and Tadej’s going to have a migraine if this keeps up.

“Can’t we all speak English, please?” he begs, and instead of a continuation of whatever hell this conversation is for all of them, Mathieu grabs Wout by the shoulder and kisses him hard.

Tadej isn’t expecting it, Primož isn’t expecting it, and Wout looks like he was expecting it least of all, arms flailing and words muffled against Mathieu’s lips. He knows it’s rude to stare, but Tadej can’t help it.

Mathieu breaks them apart again, pats Wout on the cheek and says something affectionate in Dutch, and Wout looks flustered and infuriated.

“Here’s my reasoning,” Mathieu says, switching back to English. “We are all operating on a tight schedule. I’ve got four hours of driving to do after this and I’d rather only have to do three of them in the dark. Why don’t we reach a compromise and share the room for the next hour or two?”

Wout says something that Tadej chooses to translate as _absolutely fucking not_ , and he wants Roglič to join in his charade of innocence, but instead Roglič says, “I don’t know what Wout’s just said, eh, but I agree with him. I, uh,” he stammers, “am a private person.”

Tadej has one last go at maintaining his dignity. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” No one pays him any mind.

Mathieu drags Wout into the bathroom and slams the door behind them, and Tadej and Primož are finally alone.

“I don’t like this,” Primož sighs. “Sorry, Tadja.”

Tadej’s heart feels like it’s going to thump out of his chest when Primož looks at him with the same sort of exhaustion he’s feeling, a tired smile on his face.

“It’s okay, Primož,” Tadej murmurs, the butterflies back in his stomach. “I mean, I won’t be able to see you like this until Worlds. Our teams aren’t staying in the same hotel for the rest of the Tour-” which will only make their time in Imola that much better, he thinks, “-and…”

He looks up at Primož, gets distracted by his eyes, feels his pulse rise and his cheeks flush.

“...I want to see you.”

Primož looks at him like he’s trying to memorise his face, pulls him in close, and kisses him.

It’s breathtaking, and Tadej instantly forgets about the two men in the bathroom - his whole world is just Primož, Primož, Primož, in his arms, in his mouth, down to where he’s definitely hard.

They pull apart when they can’t catch their breath anymore, and Tadej isn’t sure if they’ve been kissing for five minutes or five hours. Roglič smiles, lips shiny and dark, and Tadej can’t help but smile back.

“We should be quick. Don’t know how long they’re going to be. I’m sorry, Tadej, I really didn’t-”

Tadej shushes him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just happy to spend the time with you.”

Primož beams, and kisses him again, and Tadej can feel the smile against his lips.

“Which bed?” he asks, and Primož pulls him over to the further of the two, lets him land on the mattress with a soft bounce before draping himself over Tadej and making a soft noise at the new angle of contact.

Tadej’s trying not to be impatient, but they’re working within an unknown time frame, so he tugs at Primož’s shirt hem, pulling it up to his chest and letting Primož finish the job as he takes off his own shirt. Primož, in turn, reaches for the waistband of Tadej’s jeans, fumbling with the fly.

“Why’d you have to wear jeans, hm?” he asks, but there’s a tease in his tone as he peels Tadej’s underwear and jeans over his thighs in one go.

“I didn’t know we were going to be in a rush!” Tadej can’t help the giggle that creeps into his voice, and he’s glad, because it makes Roglič’s eyes crinkle up at the corners with his smile.

Primož’s sweatpants are much easier to remove, and they join the pile half on the floor, half falling off the edge of the bed. It’s so much nicer, kissing like this, knowing that they can take this however quickly or slowly or in whichever way they want. Tadej is- not impatient, he’s happy for this to take however long they have together, but he is itching for _something_ to happen, and so he creeps a hand down to Primož’s cock and touches, tentatively.

Primož relaxes into the movement, smiles down at him, and says, “Fuck, Tadja, I want to be inside you so bad.”

Tadej nods, and spreads his legs a little wider around Primož’s hips as Primož leans over him and retrieves lube and a condom from a little bag in the nightstand.

“You were prepared,” Tadej says dumbly, trying to fill the silence as Primož slicks up his fingers.

Primož hums in the affirmative, and presses a cool finger into Tadej. He always fixes Tadej with this keen gaze while they’re doing this, watching him for any little flickers of pleasure and pain over his face. Tadej never knows where to look - the eye contact makes him feel so seen, so exposed, and he’s a little self-conscious when Primož slides in a second finger.

Primož knows exactly how to move his fingers now, and Tadej shudders and lets out a little cry when his fingertips nudge up against his prostate. Primož only ever teases him when they have time, but they’re short on that tonight, and he soon goes back to stretching Tadej out instead of bringing him right to the brink.

Roglič opens his mouth to ask a question, but a loud cry of Wout’s name from the bathroom interrupts him.

Tadej dissolves into giggles. “Is Wout really that good in bed?”

“Must be,” Primož says with a shrug. “Don’t get any ideas, yeah?”

“It’s okay, I only like getting fucked by GC riders,” Tadej smirks, and that makes Primož laugh.

He rolls on a condom, slicks himself up, and lines up, slowly pressing into Tadej. Mathieu is loud, pornographic, and background noise, because all Tadej can focus on is Roglič’s face, each watching the other intently until Roglič bottoms out with a soft groan.

They stay like that for a moment, just taking each other in, until Primož murmurs, “You look so lovely like this.”

Tadej has to look away, feeling the flush rise in his cheeks, but Primož cups his cheek gently, leaning down to kiss him as he starts to move. It’s slow, and sweet, and tender - it’s everything he loves about Primož and more.

Primož breaks the kiss to fuck him faster, finds the angle that makes Tadej moan a bit louder than either of them were expecting, and shushes him.

“I know Wout and Mathieu were loud, but you really don’t need to try and upstage them,” he says in a low voice, and Tadej laughs again, unable to stop the smile that crosses his face, tangling his fingers in Primož’s hair to bring him back down.

Primož kisses him wherever he can reach - neck, chin, cheeks, forehead, lips, slightly salty from the sheen of sweat on Tadej’s face, whispering his name over and over until it becomes a louder mantra of “Tadej, Tadja,” fingers caressing Tadej’s cheeks and running through his hair like he’s trying to remember every little texture.

Primož speeds up again, bed frame shaking under them as Tadej reaches up for one of Primož’s hands and intertwines their fingers, panting and gasping, he’s almost there, almost-

“Primož, Primož, _ah!_ ” Tadej cries as he comes over his stomach, and Primož covers his mouth with his lips, kissing him through it until it’s too sore for Primož to keep going.

Tadej catches his breath as Primož pulls out and pulls off the condom, and doesn’t ask to pull Primož forward by the hips and take his cock into his mouth.

Primož lets out a shaky groan, hips bucking slightly into the heat of Tadej’s mouth, holding himself up by the headboard. It doesn’t take long for Primož to come, and Tadej doesn’t quite manage to keep it all in his mouth as he sits back up. Primož watches him as he swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans in to kiss him again and again, pulling the blankets over the two of them, tasting himself in Tadej’s mouth.

The bathroom door opens, and both of them ignore it.

“Rogla,” Wout says, trying to get his attention. “Swannie’s expecting you.”

Primož pulls the blanket over both of them and huffs. “Fuck him. Tell him I’ll come at eight.”

“Goodbye, Primož, goodbye, Pogi,” Mathieu says with all the cheer of a man who’s been fucked hard on a bathroom floor. “It’s always good to see you.”

Tadej can’t help another giggle - the endorphins are running too high for him to care - but Primož rolls his eyes and replies, “Fuck off.”

* * *

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other and talking about nothing, until Primož’s phone buzzes.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Massage in fifteen.”

Tadej knows that this is inevitable - it always is. One of them will have to leave, and all the other will have left is the warmth remaining in the bed after the two of them have gone their separate ways.

“I’ll miss you,” Tadej says suddenly, as they sit up and sort through their clothes.

Roglič turns to look back at him, and Tadej can’t quite read his expression.

“You’ll see me tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss you like this,” Tadej elaborates.

Primož sighs, smiles sadly. “Three weeks is a fucking long race, isn’t it?”

“And yet the Vuelta wasn’t long enough.” Tadej half-laughs at the irony.

Primož pulls his shirt over his head, hair sticking up at odd angles when he re-emerges, and Tadej is so in love with him like that - dishevelled, soft, relaxed, and so utterly happy.

Primož’s phone buzzes again.

“We should really get going.”

Primož manages to sneak one last kiss in before the elevator dings and the doors slide open, and walks off down the hallway as Tadej presses the button to go down the two floors. It’s enough time for him to make up an excuse as to where he’s been - hopefully one that’s better than his excuse for leaving in the first place.


End file.
